It was, is and will always just be yours.
You the Queen.
Me?
What was I?
Your servant?
Your loyal servant?
Was I your Arthur?
Was there ever any chance that I could be your Arthur?
I know I was never your Lancelot.
Humph!
No.
I was not.
Yet there were similarities.
I am a servant, he is a servant.
Only, he can kiss you like that.
He may embrace you like that.
He may hold your hand.
Bloody pest.
Worm.
Dirty cockroach!
Makes me sick to think that his lips meet yours.
That he may breathe in your warm breath.
That his fingers may run through your hair.
His hands may hold your hips.
He may caress the small of your back...
Your...
Miserable pestilence!
Wish I could grab him around his throat.
Bring an end to him.
If he was not there, we would probably be together.
I could hold your hand.
I could kiss you like that.
But may I?
As much as I want to blame the roach - dirty rat – for everything, I know that you chose this.
You decided.
Him instead of me.
He your knight in shining armour.
Garbage in a jelly tin.
I am just your friend.
Your reliable, loyal, best friend.
Your words.
Ouch!
It burns.
When did it happen that I no longer have a single thought that does not involve you?
When did I lose myself so?
Where to from here?
Will the pain ever stop?
The fire.
Will it ever stop burning?
Dear Lord, I will start going to church.
I will forgive Mommy for Jerry.
If You will cease the fire for just a second.
I promise.
Honest to God.
Please.
It burns.
***
I have to stay busy.
Otherwise I’ll go crazy.
Or more than I already am.
Should have been locked away a long time ago.
Only a madman can love you, as much as I love you.
My own words cut deep.
Why can I not say - loved you.
You are gone.
You abandoned me.
Tossed me to the dogs.
And yet, I still love you.
I left Namibia.
Tried to bring rivers, dunes and mountains between us.
But you are still here.
In every part of my being.
Every thought.
Every breath I draw, without you – with you - fuels the fire and hurts me more.
Will I ever be able to live without you?
Would I want to?
You are my everything.
It burns.
ii
It was afternoon.
Didn’t even notice.
Nor did I smell the aroma of the delicious fish my mom had baked.
When she haunted me (always), everything else disappeared.
Seemed insignificant.
No.
Disappeared.
Only she mattered.
Mom was asleep on the single couch.
Newspaper closed on her lap.
The Sun.
My mom’s only fix lately, it appeared.
The curtains in the living room were pulled open.
The sun was out.
Only here and there a cloud.
Would it rain later?
I wonder what Thurston was up to?
Would it seem too desperate to call him?
I saw him just yesterday.
We were together for hours.
It felt too short.
He sounded happy.
His life was full.
He enjoyed his new job.
He was madly in love, though he would plead the fifth.
The way he cooed about this Melissa.
I still had to meet her.
I tried hard to sound enthusiastic for my friend, but it was hard.
I’m stoked that things are awesome with him.
But everything was a zero compared to the occurrences in the tiny cabin.
The fire inside the small box.
To be honest, I was even a little disappointed.
I was hoping that at least one other person’s life was a total mess.
Someone else… a wreck like me.
But I was alone.
A wreck on a stormy sea.
A wreck burning.
Waterproof flames.
Flames worse as the waves threw it about.
I realize I am a little jealous too.
Thurston has a girlfriend.
And a beautiful one, as he spoke.
He had someone to hold.
I just had the fire.
The only reminder, that yes, once upon a time, not too long ago, someone was there.
Though I was alone.
In love.
A painful reminder.
One that I, with the greatest enthusiasm, would exchange for another.
This is indeed why I came to Cape Town.
The place where I... just wanted to get away from.
Ran from.
Awful memories.
Pain.
Solitude.
Death.
The memories, I realize I would barter.
Just to be rid of the fire.
I put a piece of fish in my mouth.
It tasted like nothing.
Though I could see it was covered with fragrant spices.
It was me.
My taste for nice things, were gone.
I swallowed the piece of fish and the rest of it I put on a slice of buttered bread.
Hunger was the only thing that still functioned properly.
I gently passed my mother and was out of the house.
The wind blew softly.
I was happy about that.
I hate the Cape wind like the pest itself.
More clouds gathered.
I opened the gate slowly.
Don’t.
I closed the gate behind me.
Just stood there for a moment.
Suddenly my heart started beating faster.
Sweat droplets formed on my forehead.
My shirt was suddenly wet under my arms.
So much for 24 hour anti-per spirant protection.
Judy Boucher was playing loudly from Aunty Baby's house.
She was probably on memory lane.
Probably misses the Swedish or Swiss, who never was.
Shame.
I could imagine how she felt.
And for women it was probably worse.
Or what?
Against my better judgment I started walking.
First slowly.
Then faster.
In the direction of the train tracks.
Where I, as a child, spent a lot of my solitary time.
Fortunately it was not too far.
The whole neighbourhood was quiet.
Everyone must be at work.
Thank goodness.
The place was still the same.
People still dumped their garbage here.
There were fewer trees, but the grass was still abundant.
The footpath across the tracks were gone.
Probably because no one could get to the tracks anymore.
There was a fence along the tracks as far as the eye could see.
Here and there the fence was double, as someone tried to make a hole in it.
Without the crossing, one had to walk a long way to get to the stat
ion.
The cement pipes were gone.
Probably somewhere under a street or part of a bridge.
The clouds hung like a warning.
Ominous.
Dark.
Go home.
***
1990
I hated school.
And this school more than the one in Windhoek (Namibia).
I didn’t understand the Maths, nor could I make sense of the 'tenses' in English.
Why we had to do English I really did not understand.
We could barely understand each other properly in Afrikaans.
But the school business was the least of my worries.
The bullies were a more serious headache.
Physically and otherwise.
I waited, at my usual spot beside the gate, for the bell to ring.
I was always early.
My mother saw to that.
And because I was early, there was always time for the bullies to kick my butt before class.
On the open ground beside the school hall, a few of the older boys were kicking a ball around.
They played rough.
Some even tripped others.
But it looked like awesome fun.
At the bottom of the hill were a bunch of girls and boys playing keg.
This game I would love to play.
Goal was to lift the wood piece as far as possible from where it was placed above the hole.
You then got a chance to beat it, from where it landed, to gain further points.
One person had a chance to beat the keg.
The others had to try and catch it.
You’re out!
Avoid this one if you are easily distracted.
Last week, Janine Adams missed the keg as it went straight for her face.
She wore spectacles.
Glass shattered in her eye.
She was still not back at school.
Shame.
Between the classrooms some of my class girls played block.
This game seemed boring.
But it was obviously the game that I paid most attention too.
Simoné played along.
Her hair was loose today.
The breeze played with it gently.
Simoné was slightly taller than me, I guessed.
I've never stood next to her to really say.
Her legs were most of her.
Long and beautiful.
The legs.
The parts of her legs that were not covered by clothing were a nice sunburned colour.
Her socks were rolled down past her ankles.
It was strange that girls rolled their socks like that.
But who was complaining.
One could see her delicate, petite ankles.
It was something beautiful to behold.
The beautiful body, rounded off by these delicate beauties.
My stomach felt weird.
With every kick of the stone to the next concrete block, her skirt slightly lifted and you could slightly see above her knees.
She did not wear pantyhose like the rest of the girls.
With the light breeze, her skirt rose higher and sometimes you could see her...
(whispers)
Panty.
You had to look fast, because she quickly grabbed her skirt and held it tight against her body.
When she did that, one could see the outline of her body, clearly.
She was..?
What’s the word?
Darn!
Man.
Simply beautiful.
Gorgeous.
But there was something about Simoné that hit you for a homerun.
Demanded your attention.
Captivated it.
This made it difficult for your eyes to see anything else when you first glanced at it.
It was like looking at something and then trying to look away, but you couldn’t, because it was just awesome.
It was her smile.
And she was ALWAYS smiling.
iii
I can’t say what happened first.
All happened so fast.
One moment my head met the pole of the gate.
Hard.
Next I was face in the mud.
I could not lift my head.
Something was pinning me there.
I could taste the mud.
Blood too.
My lip was cut and I think I bit my tongue when I hit the fence.
It was hard to breathe, because I could not lift my face.
A heavy weight was on top of me.
Everything was in slow motion.
Like the guys in the karate movies my dad and I used to watch.
I heard voices around me, but could not make out any.
My head was confused.
I tried to lift it again.
This time I could, but I soon realized that it was not me that was moving my body.
Something grabbed the back of my pants.
I could feel my undies pull firmly between my legs.
Hard.
I think I screamed.
The pressure down there.
It was awful.
With one movement, I felt my body turn and the next the back of my head and back made hard contact with the ground.
I gasped for air, but nothing would enter.
My wind was knocked out.
My fingers clawed through the mud, but I seized that quick.
Instead, I grabbed my jewels.
Tried to relief the pain.
In vain.
The pain literally pounded.
It felt as if I wanted to pee, but also as though I could not pee.
At once the school bell rang.
The sound far and distant at first.
But then closer and clearer.
Later it felt as if it was ringing in my head.
But it was not the bell that rang in my head.
The pain in my body merely mimicked the bell.
It was in my head, my tongue in my stomach and the worst pounding was down there.
My hands held my jewels.
Held it as if it was something valuable.
Securely, so that it wouldn’t fall.
But at the same time, as if I was holding a butterfly.
Careful not to damage the wings.
The voices around me became clearer.
I could hear the children laugh and the girls giggled.
Was Simoné one of them?
Did she witness me screaming like a girl?
Could she see me agonising in the mud?
With my hands clutching my jewels?
The thought alone ashamed me.
I felt the anger stir inside me.
Tears started to burn my eyes.
I tried to hold them back.
Girls do not like boys who cry.
You could make up for screaming like a girl, if you at least showed that you were a man.
Endure the pain without crying.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else.
The pain made it completely impossible.
"Bloody, whitey!"
That voice was clear.
Almost as if the words were said right in my ear.
Hard and rough.
And all too familiar.
Georgie.
I heard Mr Love’s voice too.
He ordered the children to their classes.
Gripped me firmly by my left arm.
It was painful.
My whole body was suddenly in pain.
He called my name repeatedly.
I opened my eyes and looked for his friendly face.
I tried to answer, but the words would not leave my mouth.
I just shook my head.
"Mr Green! Today you’re gonna get a hurt real bad! To my office! Immediately!"
Hmmm.
Oh, well.
> Another beating after school.
One never wins.
iv
A broken lip and a bump on my head, was the only external evidence that I got my butt kicked real good.
My tongue felt swollen, but that was all.
The pain in the rest of my body, especially down there, had subsided.
My clothes were obviously a mess.
Nothing I could do about that.
Reluctantly I left the restrooms to join my class.
Everyone was definitely waiting for the monkey to do more tricks.
Mrs October briefly looked up when I walked into the class and then back to the work on her desk.
The class started buzzing.
A few girls giggled.
I didn’t look up.
I did not want to see her.
"Silence." Mrs October almost sounded concerned.
I sat down, took out my Afrikaans reading book and started reading.
I could feel the glares on me.
I never looked up.
Was Simoné one of them, however, I wondered.
I had to know.
I swiftly looked in her direction.
She was reading.
Her hair over one of her shoulders and her feet crossed under her chair.
Satisfied, I looked down again and read further.
Usually I enjoyed the Afrikaans reading, but not today.
I just wanted to get away.
I felt dirty in the wet, muddy clothes.
What lie did I have to tell Mommy today?
I rinsed my mouth, but still shuddered as I bit on a piece of rock.
Maybe I should ask to leave class and then just run home.
Delay my next meeting with Georgie.
He was not back yet.
Probably still with Mr Love.
But what would that help?
Nothing.
I could not afford to fall behind with Maths.
We were busy with the 12 times 12 tables and I struggled with this one too.
English I didn’t want to think about.
Blazers and jackets and pants and trousers.
Why were there so many words for a jacket and A pants?
And why these complicated words.
Was and were was something to write home about.
Seriously?
English is for nerds.
Suddenly the whole class stood up.
I followed.
"Good morning, Mr Love. How are you?"
The entire class said with one loud voice.
"Morning, you all. I’m very well. You?"
Mr Love was the only one of the teachers that took these formalities seriously.
There was a genuine interest in what we would answer.
Though the answer was always the same.
I could see his eyes looking for me.
"We are riding the wind! Thank you." I recited the rhyme together.
Butt kicked good!
Thank you.
I would have preferred to say.
Everyone sat down and Mr Love went to talk to Mrs October.
Georgie stood at the door.
Red faced.
He looked at me intently.
Fists clenched.
The veins in his hands and arms were now more prominent.
As if they would burst any second.
He was clearly angry.
Furious.
His eyes were dark black and broad.
But I didn’t look away.
One day is one day; I thought to myself, I'll get you back.
Humiliate you.
You will wish you were never born.
Yes, I have no pecs and you have a big body with hard muscles.
I am scrawny and you are big as an ox.
But…
One day is one day.
Mark my words, Coloured.
"Are you okay, Mr Este’huizen?" The soft, friendly voice was Mr Love’s.